The Power of Crow's Feet

Although some of you know the story of when I first met my husband, I thought I’d relive that fateful day once more for you here.

Picture this, a much younger me—23 to be exact, in the fall of her second year in Japan. Don’t forget to picture me “cute,” because I was VERY cute back then. It was October of 1988 and Halloween was quickly approaching.

Over my first year in Japan I had already come to the conclusion that I would never have a romantic relationship with a Japanese guy. Why? Let me list the many reasons.

1. When I lived in Tokyo for the first 6 months of my life in Japan, I had to take the train to my language school every morning at rush hour. I stood squeezed between Japanese business men who smelled unusual to me. I was accustomed to the heavily cologned smell of Western men, and couldn’t quite adjust to this new and unusual fragrance which I later learned was probably a combination of miso soup, seaweed, and fish that had been eaten for breakfast often complimented by the scent of cigarette smoke (remember this was in the olden days when most businessmen stood smoking on the train platforms and even sometimes smoked in the trains). Please understand that I mean no offense by this odiferous observation, it was just new and unusual to me. (I have since been told that some people think that Westerners smell like butter).

2. I was, 99% of the time, looking down on the men around me. I don’t mean that I thought I was better than them, I mean I was literally looking down on them. At a height of 167cm, most of the men of my generation that I met were either at eye level or smaller than me. Fortunately for my tall daughter, the younger generation is getting much taller—it must be from all of those McDonald’s hamburgers or something! Anyway, I’m sorry to have to admit to this prejudice I have, but I really really wanted to meet someone taller than me. I just felt too clumsy and huge around guys who were not bigger than me.

3. Well, this one is obvious, I couldn’t speak Japanese well enough to have any sort of deep conversation with anyone and I didn’t know anyone who could speak English well enough to have a meaningful conversation with. I really wanted to communicate well with the man of my dreams.

4. Not a single Japanese guy had ever shown the slightest interest in me romantically, or if they did I hadn’t realized it.

5. I wanted to marry a guy who shared the same faith as me. I’m Christian but only one percent of the Japanese population is Christian, and in my experience, most of them were women. I couldn’t see a relationship with someone of a different faith working out for me.

And finally,

6. I was going to be returning to the USA after 3 years in Japan, so what was the point of starting to like someone only to have to leave them.

Well, obviously, even though my list of reasons NOT to meet and marry a Japanese guy seemed pretty convincing—God had another plan for me.

It was late in October when I first met Tetsuo. I was attending a Halloween party being held by the international students at Kumamoto University as the chaperone for two Australian high school students whose host parents didn’t want attending a university party alone. In preparation for the party, I dressed up as a big yellow mouse—complete with Mickey Mouse ears and cushions stuffed in my clothes to make be big and fat.

Several minutes after arriving at the party I glanced over at the door, when who should walk in but my Mr. Right. I know I listed several reasons for why I couldn’t have a romantic relationship with a Japanese guy, but they all faded away when Tetsuo Kuramoto walked into the room. There he stood, all 181 centimeters of him. He was dressed in a nice suit because he didn’t know anything about Halloween and the custom to wear costumes. But the thing that I will never forget about Tetsuo then and I still love about him now was his eyes—or more specifically, the wrinkles around his eyes. He was still young at the time, but he already had crow’s feet at the edges of his eyes. Those crow’s feet spoke volumes to me. They told me that this guy was a smiler—He smiled so much that he already had crow’s feet at age 25! And I realized that no matter how many strikes someone has against him, he can still win if he has a smile.

His laugh lines are much deeper now—which I like to believe is evidence that life with me has been good. And even though he (and I) sometimes smell like miso soup, seaweed, and fish . . .he’s still my Mr. Right.